


I Want You Right Now

by Paxella



Category: Rules of Engagement (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8045545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paxella/pseuds/Paxella
Summary: Russell and Timmy process the events of the Radha incident.





	I Want You Right Now

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one-shot I've had laying around for awhile (to which Twist of Fate makes reference). Takes place during the events of "Cooking Class" (S7E9) during the Radha incident. // A bit of dialogue lifted from the end of the episode.

Timmy sat at his desk, fumbling papers in an effort to refocus, trying to steady his breathing.

Something insane had just happened. He probably shouldn't have taken his place back at his desk -- no, he probably should have just left altogether, yes, he probably should have escaped the office the second it had happened, but he was in shock, he couldn't think straight.

Russell Dunbar had just accidentally...come on to him. _Accidentally_ , mind you. Naturally, it was a case of mistaken identity...well, yes, but then, it was a lot more complicated than that, wasn't it?

No, no, of course it wasn't. It was...it was a case of mistaken identity, he did indeed very much resemble his employer's girlfriend of late, it was an easy enough mistake. But...but then, she hadn't really started out resembling him. Well, she had. Strikingly so. And then piece by piece, he had begun to mold her, to turn her into--

Timmy stood from his desk in a panic, marching towards Russell's door. He stopped just short, hand posed to open it, to walk in. And then his hand fell as his feet took several steps back. There was nothing more to say, no possible way to make this situation any less awkward than it already was.

And so he turned instead swiftly to his right, exiting the office. He would go home. He would sit in a hot shower, and think long and hard about his life, and cry.

Inside Russell's office sat a man stunned, staring silently forward, trying to process a million thoughts that led nowhere. Yes, that had just happened. Yes, that was Timmy. No, that wasn't Radha.

"I just told Timmy I wanted him..."

Russell's eyes shot wide. "Oh, my god!" He looked all around as if a million eyes were watching him, as if everybody in the world had heard the statement, as if everybody had seen what had just happened outside his office door. He sighed; he was safe. Still, he shrunk in protection...who was he hiding from? He couldn't hide from these sudden intrusive thoughts...

"Dude, that was weird." He brushed it off with a forced laugh, trying to ignore the strange sensation seeping through his body. What was happening? This wasn't right...something...was...wrong.

His door creaked open, and Russell jolted.

"Russell? Is everything okay?"

Russell stood very slowly...he looked to Radha in the doorway, eyes tracing her figure up and down as he began to approach her. His first concern was making sure it was really her, and once he had reached her he did just that. He pressed his hands to her cheeks, moving her head around gently. Satisfied with this, he moved his hands down to the nearest area that could prove he was dealing with a bona fide female...

Russell had barely grazed Radha's breasts before she slapped his hands away.

"What on earth are you doing?!"

"I'm sorry! I just had to make sure!"

"Make sure of what? What is all of this about?"

Russell didn't respond; he was on to his next item of business. He was examining Radha carefully now, the cogs in his brain spinning in double time. His brain formed a makeshift checklist...

 _Radha is Indian...Timmy is Indian._  
_Radha has a British accent...Timmy has a British accent._  
_Radha has glasses...Timmy has glasses._  
_Radha has--_

"Russell...?"

Russell shook his head, shaking all of these ponderings back into a little box in the far back of his brain marked 'denial'...the place where he kept all kinds of assorted thoughts nice and warm, never to be thought of again.

"No, nothing, uh, you wanna get out of here? I need a drink, you want a drink?"

"Well, it's still early, haven't you still work to do, and--"

"Yeah, let's go get a drink."

\----------

"And when I came back from vacation, he was dating this woman, but you see, uhm...this woman is essentially me."

Timmy sat in a dimly lit therapists' office. He had taken to wringing his hands, a soft, nervous shake to his leg. The woman across from him paused in taking her notes. They'd been seeing each other for quite some time; she'd become quite well versed in Timmy's standard weekly purging about Russell. This seemed a bit different, his body language a bit more intense.

"Essentially you?"

"Indian. The same accent. He encouraged her to cut her hair short, wear glasses, dress in a similar fashion. It's as if, and I'm sure this is a ridiculous notion, a great laugh -- ha! -- but it appears as though he's gone entirely out of his way to find a woman who resembles me as near as he could make her, but that would imply all kinds of things on an absurdly twisted psychological level, so of course I'm blowing this completely out of proportion, thank you so much for your time, Linda."

Timmy stood abruptly.

"Timmy, sit."

He did as instructed.

"It sounds to me like you think there's something to this, I think we should talk about it. I mean, wow. You've been sitting on that couch for what, four, five years? Telling me horror stories about this guy and suddenly you're telling me something pretty freaking intriguing, I think you owe it to both of us to keep talking. How do you feel about all this, huh?"

"Weird. I feel weird." He leaned forward hesitantly. "He told me...he basically said that's he's turned on by things about this woman that are very specifically things about me. Her skin, her accent, the way she takes care of him. Please, what on earth does this mean? And that's not all, I'm afraid that isn't the worst of it." Timmy grit his teeth. "Earlier today he sort of, he-- he felt me up. He thought I was her, mind you, and he accidentally...came on to me."

Linda paused, gathering her thoughts. "Whoa, okay. Lemme get this straight. Russell, the same Russell who's been giving you grief for years, more or less said he's into you, that's the vibe we're getting here?"

"Is that what we're saying?" Timmy took to nervous shaking again. "Yes. Yes, all right, I think that's a reasonable assumption. Although I believe he's going to deny this. What do I say to him? Please, I need help."

"Well...how do you feel about Russell?"

Timmy's eyes shot wide. "What?"

Linda shrugged. "Just a question. Humor me."

"I despise him, my god, you know how much I hate that man, I've done little else but express that fact to you these last few years."

"That's true Timmy, but as we've discussed previously, you've devoted an awful lot of session time to somebody you hate, let alone an awful lot of your life. Maybe this is that final straw you keep saying is coming? It sounds like he's crossing a line you're not ready for--"

"What--what do you mean, not ready? When on earth would I ever be ready for this kind of a line cross!"

The woman sat back a moment, collecting her thoughts. As a therapist, it wasn't really her place to psychoanalyze. They'd had a working relationship for long enough, however, that they'd grown rather frank with one another.

"Timmy, can I be honest with you?"

"Please."

"You don't just come in here telling me how much you hate this guy...I mean there's that, yeah, and he sounds pretty terrible, I'll give you that one. But there's something else. You come in here updating me about your life, casual stuff, right? I ask you, 'hey, what did you do this week?' And you'll say, 'Russell and I did this,' or 'Russell and I did that,' and you're relaxed, you're happy. It's your day to day life, it's your normal."

Timmy ran a hand slowly against the back of his neck. "Yes, well...but you see, I...that's different."

"Russell's a pretty big part of your existence, Timmy. All I'm saying is, if I didn't know better -- and don't get me wrong, I totally do -- but if I was an outsider hearing some of those things, I might think you guys were...attached."

"Oh, good lord! No...no, we're...we're not even remotely a-- I mean, people have mistaken us for a couple on multiple occasions." Timmy paused in reflection. "Oh, my god."

"Aren't you guys friends, though? Isn't it time to admit that much?"

"Well...well, yes."

"How good of friends are you? I mean, in his mind, do you think?"

Timmy scoffed, eyes wide. "Given the circumstances, apparently pretty damn good, I should wager."

"And it makes you feel...weird? How else, any other feelings on this?"

Timmy wanted to lay out a number of words. He searched his mind: angry, repulsed -- that's what he sincerely wanted to say. But it didn't quite fit.

Softly he answered: "Confused. Frightened."

"Yeah? Why do you think you feel that way?"

"I haven't the foggiest."

"Can I ask you a question? Just a question, you can interpret it however you like, okay?"

Timmy nodded gently.

"Do you love Russell?"

Timmy didn't react at first; the question sank slowly into his brain, dissolving down, processing. And then he sank low. He was silent for a long time. She allowed him this time to think, to formulate a reply.

He found his voice finally, allowing it to eke out softly. "Not...not romantically, of course...? Merely as a fellow human being?"

"Sure. However you want to look at it."

"I...care for Russell." He scoffed, shaking his head. "But love, I don't know..."

"Well, how do you define love? You personally, what's your definition of love?"

"Well, that's rather difficult to pin down, isn't it? Uhm. I suppose...it's an intrinsic sort of draw to a fellow being. An inexplicable sort of connection, wanting to be near someone, a deep...a deep affection, a kind of caring that can't quite be explained in layman's terms."

"Have you ever had a romantic relationship like that?"

"Oh my, I wish. Isn't that what we all search for?"

"Well, have you ever had a friendship like that?"

"A friendship? Well, no, not really, I..." Timmy halted. And then it struck him. Oh. There it was. "Oh, my. Well...it's not precisely..." He sank down a bit further, lost in trying to piece together the elaborate puzzle he'd just been handed.

Linda smiled softly, knowingly. "All I do in here is observe, bounce off what you tell me. Whatever Russell's motivations were, it seems to me you're pretty conflicted about what that means and what to do about it. But considering what this relationship means to you...that's probably a good start."

Timmy released a heavy breath, and in a last ditch effort to retain his sanity he murmured softly, "I truly do hate the man."

"In my personal experience, even in the most extreme love/hate relationships, for better or for worse there's still at least a little sliver of that dynamic that doesn't fall on the side of hate. Something to think about, huh?"

Yes...yes, something to think about, indeed.

\----------

For some reason, Radha had been particularly reluctant tonight to engage with Russell sexually; she had seemed put off, resistant, but she still found him strangely charming, he seemed so genuinely drawn to her, so she had cracked. It was 2am, and they were both just a touch inebriated on wine and conversation when they finally found themselves back at Russell's apartment.

Radha had mounted Russell some time ago and they had found a steady rhythm to their movements, his hands clutching her golden hips. He'd never been so into a woman -- and he'd been with more women than he could count. Each thrust felt like pure satisfaction, not just physically but on a spiritual level. He couldn't believe he was having these thoughts. All he knew was he wanted this to last forever.

He started in with the dirty talk. "Oh yeah...mph, just like that baby...you like that, don't cha? You're so hot, you know just how I like it."

He let off a soft laugh, one of pure unadulterated bliss, and then: "I fucking love you, Timmy!"

The world stopped.

Radha quickly ceased her movements, removing herself from Russell in a flurry and dashing for her clothes on the floor.

"Baby, what's wrong, what?!" Russell sat up, incredulous, a look of shock strewn across his face.

She was already half dressed and halfway across the room. "Did you not just hear yourself?! I knew something was wrong about this but my god, this takes the cake."

Russell pulled himself from the bed to follow her trail. He grabbed her by the shoulders.

"What the hell did I say? Come on, Radha, we have something really special here, what's the problem?!"

She stared him straight in the eyes. "You called me Timmy."

Russell's jaw dropped hard. And then he froze, softened, realizing what he had done. Oh, god...what-- what the hell-- He shook his head to recover, to deflect, and laughing, went straight into denial. "Well, I don't know what you think you heard, but--"

"Listen, Russell, I get it. Coming out is difficult, you're compensating with me, but I won't be anybody's consolation prize. If you want him, you won't get him through me."

She had forced him back to confused contemplation, back to reality, and she wriggled free now from his grasp.

"I, uh...I called you..."

"Timmy. Yes. You did."

Russell, ghostly white, walked back to the bed and sat down slowly, watching Radha as she buttoned her shirt and put on the new suit jacket he'd bought her earlier in the day; the one that bore a striking resemblance to the one Timmy had been wearing. Of course this fact hadn't occurred to him at the time. And now...

Radha sighed heavily. "The last time I spoke with him, I felt something was off about all of this, and it was very clear he was in agreement. What, did you think we wouldn't notice? For how long?"

Russell placed his head in his hands. "I have no idea what's going on..."

"You're either lying or you're in the largest state of denial I've ever seen. I mean, look at me." He continued looking down, head planted firmly in his hands. She spread her arms wide. "Look at me!"

Russell did as instructed.

"You've played dress up with me! I look just like him!"

Russell squinted and something snapped in his head. His narrow eyes turned wide and he muttered a shallow, "Oh fuck...no, I didn't...did I?"

"Look at me! The clothes, my hair, I cut my hair!"

"This...this is all just a stupid coincidence, I swear. C'mon, Radha, why would I wanna turn you into Timmy?"

"You want him."

"Ohhh, my god..." Russell returned his head to his hands, unable to look at Radha any longer.

"Perhaps you're in love with him."

His thoughts were spinning out of control.

"Listen to me carefully: you have feelings for this man. I shouldn't even be standing here still, but you're so pitiful I felt I had no choice but to talk some sense into you."

".....Wh...what...?"

"Tell him how you feel. I can't do this anymore. Goodbye, Russell." With that, she was gone.

Russell looked down between his legs, his first thought drifting towards how limp he was becoming and how he wasn't going to get any more action tonight. His second thought turned to one of desperation; should he follow her? Should he call her back? He loved this woman, she was his soul mate...wasn't she? So then why wasn't he chasing after her?

Timmy. For some stupid reason she was going on and on about Timmy. Russell was still trying beyond reason to shove the office incident away, to forget it had happened; indeed to forget already about the undeniable truths Radha had just thrown his way. The striking resemblance, the dress-up. And had he really...just screamed out his name? Was he...had he been imagining that she was...that he was having sex with...oh, god, no, why would he do that? That's sick, ugh, why would...

Timmy...ohhh, fuck, Timmy...

Russell jerked, realizing that his hand was on his growing penis, tugging gently. He promptly folded his arms, placing his hands inside his armpits to stop himself from whatever it was he was doing.

He looked around his lonely room. He wanted her back. He wanted...he wanted somebody. Oh, god. He wanted...did he want...?

"This is nuts," declared Russell finally. He stood up but halted as he looked over to the nightstand, and his gaze stopped on his phone. Not fully thinking, he grabbed it and pushed a number on speed dial.

It rang. Once, twice, three times, still ringing, where the hell was he, and then--

"Sir, have you any idea what time it is?"

Russell couldn't speak.

"Hello? Sir?"

What was this feeling? Why did it feel this way? Why was he suddenly so warm hearing Timmy's voice on the other end of the line? Come on, Russell, talk. Just say something.

"Sir, is everything all right? Russ--"

Russell ended the call, tossing the phone and backing away quickly as if it were a bomb. Had he really just called Timmy? Had he really just yelled out his name? Was he...did he want to have...sex with... Oh, fuck! Sick! Gay! What the hell?!

Russell collapsed into bed with a heavy groan. He wanted him.

No. No, he didn't.

But his hand had returned to his penis, and he didn't stop this time; his eyes closed gently. He knew exactly who he was thinking about.

\----------

Timmy stared at his phone a bit too long. Why? Why had Russell called in the middle of the night, only to hang up so abruptly?

He sat up in bed; he couldn't sleep, now. The revelations of therapy had rocked him, and getting to sleep in the first place had been something of a challenge.

If Russell Dunbar was harboring some sort of repressed sexual attraction towards him, they would have to address this at once. Perhaps he would have to leave the company at last, perhaps he'd have to finally get away from Russell once and for all. Surely he couldn't remain employed to a man who had been suppressing such deep seeded non-reciprocal romantic tensions towards him.

Non-reciprocal. Surely.

 _"How do you define love?"_ The question still ticked away in his brain, threatening to drive him mad.

He needed to try and sleep, to get away from all of this, somehow. He reached for the small radio he kept on his nightstand.

The classical station he normally listened to was jumbled; he turned the old dial slowly, hearing blips of songs, passing each one as quickly as he came to it. And then he heard one blip, a familiar note -- he dialed back, hand leaving the nob.

Mr. Big's _To Be With You_.

He stared at the radio in mild awe before laying back in bed, focusing on the song, on each word. Remembering. Thinking. What had begun as a journey of distraction was taking him further and further into reflection.

 _I'm the one who wants to be with you_  
_Deep inside, I hope you feel it too_

Why did he feel a little warm? Slightly...slightly affectionate?

 _Wake up, who cares about_  
_Little boys who talk too much_

Surely the only thing he should have felt in this situation was abject terror. That is to say, Russell had crossed a boundary. He was clearly out of line, he was...

 _So come on baby, come on over_  
_Let me be the one to show you_

Timmy's hand was gracing his thigh gingerly, inching slowly downward. There was a heat building upward, into his head, making it difficult to think.

_Why be alone, when we can be together baby..._

His fingers brushed against the outline of his penis, and all at once, panic stricken, he turned, slamming the radio off.

He laid on his side, hands under his pillow, wide-eyed, staring into the distance.

He wouldn't sleep.

\----------

The next morning, anxiety hung heavy in the office, only it had shifted now. Where the anxiety of the previous day's post-groping had been chaotic, terrified, today it was contained, reflective.

As per usual, Timmy had arrived to the office a great deal earlier than Russell. He'd had a lot of time to think, something he'd done his best to stop doing the night before. He knew they would need to speak, to discuss what happened like mature adults. And now, as Russell finally entered the office, eyes diverting downward, clearly growing nervous at the sight of him, Timmy stood to his feet in anticipation.

Perhaps the strange, inexplicable warmth had returned to them both; just a touch. Indeed Russell understood it a bit better now than he had before, but his time alone with Timmy in his head last night had already been placed securely within the little box in his brain, and he'd done his best to throw away the key. This enabled Russell to speak first, a fact to which Timmy found himself quite grateful.

"Morning..."

"Sir..."

Russell had grabbed the mail from Timmy's desk in search of something for his eyes to do...something that didn't involve looking at Ra-- Timmy. Looking at Timmy. He looked good today. Don't look at him.

"It's nice outside today, it's warm."

Small talk wouldn't get them anywhere, but cautiously, Timmy responded in kind. "Yes. Unseasonably so."

For a moment Russell considered speaking again...but no. No, weather would do it, pleasant little intro for the day, he'd fulfilled his obligation as a boss, fully engaged with the little workers. Heh, that's all Timmy really was, after all. There was nothing more to talk about, was there? And so he turned uneasily to walk away, never once looking at Timmy, never once facing the issue.

Timmy would have none of this, and he braved following Russell now. He threw out a line carefully in hopes of a bite, not knowing where it would lead. But he needed clarity. It couldn't end like this.

"Sir, do you perhaps think we should talk about what happened?"

Russell looked to Timmy now, blinders firmly secured. Well, it was clear Timmy wasn't about to let up...he would have to face this head on. He'd have to set his pride aside and allow himself an ounce of emotional honesty, no matter how vulnerable it made him. Surely they both deserved that after all they'd been through together.

"What's there to talk about? I was dating a hottie, you got weird, tried to turn yourself _into_ her, and now she doesn't talk to me. Thanks a lot, buddy." Or he could keep pretending. That didn't feel quite as gross.

Unbelievable. Of course Timmy had known Russell would be in denial of the root of the problem, but to be so completely mentally opaque, to reverse the blame entirely onto him was another matter entirely.

"That's your version?"

"My version...because that's what happened." Russell appeared as though he ought to be quite put out by the audacity of Timmy's behavior, rather than the other way around. "Do me a favor. Let's not let it happen again."

Timmy surrendered. He didn't have the energy to push a square peg through a round hole...if this was Russell's game, he'd play along for now. "Fine. I'll do my best, sir."

"Okay, that'd be great."

And so the two parted ways, Russell cementing himself protectively in his office.

Timmy heaved a heavy sigh. Discuss it like mature adults, what had he possibly been thinking? This was Russell Dunbar he was talking about...he should have known to expect such a ludicrous display from the man. Ridiculous.

He needed to clear his head; he needed a strong cup of coffee and to stop thinking about any of this. Perhaps for the rest of the day, perhaps forever. He set about making coffee with a shake of his head.

And then a new figure entered the room; without bothering to look a voice came from behind him, and he felt his backside patted gently as Adam's words drifted past him: "Oh, hey, Radha. Can I have a chat with your man?"

As Adam disappeared into Russell's office, Timmy turned with an aggravated sigh.

He knew this wasn't going away. He could try all he liked, but it would keep rearing its ugly head. Oh, nobody would ever speak of it again, surely. But every time he looked at Russell, he would know what had happened...everybody who had met Radha would know. In some silent recess of their mind, they knew.

Perhaps everyone had always known something that he hadn't...about Russell. About him and Russell. Just what that something was, he couldn't quite pin down.

_How do you define love?_

"Hey, Tim?" Russell emerged, voice soft. Timmy shifted, taking a step towards Russell...it seemed he was ready to talk. Perhaps he'd changed his mind, perhaps he'd come to his senses. Timmy was ready.

"Yes, sir?"

"Get us some coffee in here, would ya? What the heck am I paying you for, anyway? Geez. Lazy, just standin' around..."

And so Russell returned to his office, closing the door behind him...and so Timmy returned to making coffee, pushing down nonsensical thoughts of love, friendship, devotion...he had a job, he was earning a mediocre paycheck, nothing more, nothing less. The rest was inconsequential.

If only Timmy had known that for Russell, love was asking a certain someone to make him coffee.


End file.
